


What Yet Survives

by voiceless_terror



Series: Prompt Fills [11]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Prompt Fill, Tim and Jon Have a Talk, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: “Because it’s your fault we’re down here.” Tim has done this before. It’s like pressing on a bruise to remind him of the pain, to keep the discoloration on his skin for just a bit longer. Tim feels helpless, trapped, so Jon lets him have this.Somewhere between America and Great Yarmouth, Jon and Tim have it out. It doesn't solve much of anything.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Series: Prompt Fills [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921006
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	What Yet Survives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaiserkorresponds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/gifts).



> Prompt from the wonderful kaiserkorresponds: "Stop saying that" from the prompts list??? Maybe ,,, Jon and Tim?? If you feel like it ??
> 
> Oh, I'm always up for a little Jon and Tim angst.

“Why?”

It’s the end of the day and Jon just wants to go back to Georgie’s She’ll ask too many questions, sure. She’ll push him on things he doesn’t want to talk about. But it’s a home. It’s a door with a lock that he has a key to, and a face that occasionally smiles when he enters the room. That’s rare these days. 

“Why what?” Jon replies to Tim’s vague questioning. He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall like he used to back in the early days of the archives. But then it was an action of ease and posturing, now he thinks Tim’s simply just tired.

“Why did you ask us down here? Me and Sasha. In the beginning.”

It was an easy choice to make. Tim and Sasha were the only researchers he was on fairly good terms with who would probably relish the chance to work directly with statements. They weren’t particularly pleased with his promotion, but they still accepted the offer.

“I trusted you-”

“Trusted,” Tim snorts and Jon realizes his error. “Funny choice of words there, boss.”

“It’s not-” Jon sighs, realizing defensiveness will get him nowhere, not with Tim. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Not worth much.”

“I know.” It’s true.

“Because it’s your fault we’re down here.” Tim has done this before. It’s like pressing on a bruise to remind him of the pain, to keep the discoloration on his skin for just a bit longer. Tim feels helpless, trapped, so Jon lets him have this. But he’s so _tired._

“Okay, Tim.”

“Fucking _stuck,_ me and Martin-”

“I didn’t actually choose Martin-”

“Shut up.” The words are sharp enough that Jon stops being contrary if only to ease the fire in Tim’s eyes. Maybe he’ll run out of steam. “And Sasha-”

That’s the sore spot.

“Sasha’s dead-”

“Stop, Tim.”

“Sasha’s dead, and you were too busy wrapped up in your own paranoia to even realize it.”

“Tim-”

“And if we hadn’t come down here, if you’d taken your head out of your ass for one _fucking_ minute, she might still be here!”

“That’s not-”

“It’s your _fucking fault_ that she’s-”

_“Stop it!”_ Jon swipes at his desk, the sound of scattering papers and shattering glass startling the both of them. “Stop- stop _saying_ that.” There’s an anger in him and Tim sees it, thrives on it. Wants to see him mad so he can watch him fall. It’s a lovely back and forth in its own way.

Tim’s smile is nasty, pointed. “Just because you don’t want to hear it doesn’t make it less true.”

Jon- Jon hasn’t felt true anger in a while. Exasperation? Yes. Anxiety? Of course. Fear? _Always._ The feeling is foreign but welcome, and his tension boils over as his face morphs into a snarl and he turns on Tim.

“Is it?” He’s careful to keep the compulsion out of his voice, his words slow and deliberate. “Is it my fault? Tell me, Tim- why did you accept this position? Why did you say yes?”

Tim’s eyes become guarded as he makes his way to the corner of the room- they’re circling each other, the both of them itching for a fight. “You know why.”

“I’m starting to think I don’t,” Jon’s voice is becoming almost manic in an attempt to remain light. “Because I _made_ you come down here. Because it’s _my_ fault.” The words pouring from his throat are pure vitriol, designed to stab at all of Tim’s soft spots but he doesn’t care. “Is it my fault Sasha ran out that day in the Archives to save you? You walked around, just like me, with that- that _thing_ pretending to be Sasha. And you didn’t say a word.” Tim lets out a growl but his eyes are growing foggy- he’s hurt. _Good._ “Do you- do you remember her voice, Tim? I don’t. I play-” his voice is breaking now, the anger falling into something adjacent to grief. “I play that tape _every day._ The one with her voice. And it’s still not right. It’s not her voice but it is, isn’t it?” The fingers of his hands curl inward, biting crescent-shaped wounds into his palms. 

A slam of Tim’s hand on the cabinet. Papers fly, a few books land on the floor. Tim wishes it were Jon he’s hitting. He doesn’t need the Eye to know this. “Stop it, Jon. You don’t- you don’t get to-”

“I’m so tired,” Jon interrupts. He’s not even talking to Tim so much as at him. He speaks his fatigue back into existence; it washes away the anger and leaves him uncomfortably empty. But it feels good to talk. “I’m so tired of people _touching_ me and _yelling_ at me and telling me what to do. I’m tired of ‘saving the world’ and chasing leads. I’m tired of losing things.”

“Things?”

“My home. Any sense of security. People. Sasha.” He makes sure to look Tim in the eyes. “You.”

“That’s- that’s on you, Jon,” Tim’s right. He’s done nothing to maintain their tentative friendship- he’s ruined that all on his own with his paranoia, his stalking, his distrust. 

“I know,” Jon admits, the smile on his face one of defeat. “And I’m sorry. You don’t- you don’t have to forgive me for that. I don’t expect it. But I can’t take the blame for everything. It’s- it’s too much.” He didn’t kill Sasha. He didn’t trap Tim or Martin or anyone else. “And no apology is going to help because you can’t figure out what it’s for anymore. And neither can I.”

“Fuck off.” The words have no heat behind them. It’s Tim’s way of saying ‘you’re right’ without losing any face. He’s staring at a book on the ground, his face unreadable as he reaches down to pick it up and gently place it back on the cabinet. “I need you. And- and I _hate_ that.”

“I know.” He can’t apologize because he’s run out of sorries. And he won’t say it’s okay because it’s not, and likely never will be again. 

“Promise me,” Tim’s face turns to his and there’s something in it he hates- a desperate plea that Jon sees in his own mirror every morning. It’s not right on Tim. “Promise me we can end this. Destroy them. No matter what it takes.”

Jon nods. It’s not a promise. He can’t give him words that will ring hollow. Tim knows this, and for once he doesn’t push.

Jon can’t lose anyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go. A little bit of sadness to start the day off right. Hope you enjoyed!!! Got a few more of these queued up that I'm excited to share.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts! Comments always appreciated. You can find me @voiceless-terror on tumblr for asks/prompts. Thanks for reading!


End file.
